


why are you full of rage? (because you are full of grief)

by wordsxstars



Series: darling why do you love a storm [1]
Category: Grey's Anatomy, Private Practice
Genre: Angst, Baking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Meredith Grey, Not Canon Compliant, Other, References to Addiction, Sisters, amelia shepherd needs a hug and i wish i could give it to her so maggie can do it instead, okay technically we don't know if this is canon compliant or not so nvm lets just say it is, somewhere in the time that meredith is gone, tbh it says so much about my writing that the first tag is angst, yes i finished season 11 so this is how i deal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29136807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsxstars/pseuds/wordsxstars
Summary: Everything looks perfect from a distance.Look a little closer, and you’ll see the cracks, trembling, trying desperately to keep it together.Blink and you’ll miss it.Blink and it’s gone.or, darling why do you love a storm?because even nature needs to scream sometimes.
Relationships: Maggie Pierce & Amelia Shepherd
Series: darling why do you love a storm [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2142912
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	why are you full of rage? (because you are full of grief)

**Author's Note:**

> do i have twenty other wips yes, but did i choose to write this instead also yes<3
> 
> (also it is currently midnight so if u see any grammar mistakes no u didn’t)

Façades, at the heart of it, can be an art form in the worst kind of way.

After all, everything looks pretty from a distance. 

Pretty painted smiles and eyes and smiles. Jokes. A blue patterned scrub cap, an extension of her skin now. Smiles. More smiles, so many smiles. 

Laughs ring hollow, maybe no one notices. Maybe people are too scared to ask. Maybe. 

Everything looks perfect from a distance. 

If you look a little closer, and you’ll see the cracks, trembling, trying desperately to keep it together. 

If you look fast enough, you’ll see the shaking hands of a wide eyed girl. A sister left behind. Young, too young, and yet all too old. 

Blink and you’ll miss it. 

Blink and it’s gone. 

_._

_Sometimes, it goes like this._

Maggie never knew Derek Shepherd that well. 

Of course she had known him, everyone had. Of course she had talked to him, had loved him, had cared for him. But she’d known him for a year, and for most of that time he’d been in DC. 

So it’s weird. She isn’t sure what to feel. She grieves, grieves a lot with Alex Karev, often accompanied by Jo Wilson. They drink, they watch fireworks, they attempt to learn how to cook. Gradually, Maggie's things end up in Alex's house. No one complains, no one questions it. 

They keep living, keep moving forward.

She visits Derek's grave, once, just to see. She’d heard people say that going to a grave is supposed to help a little. 

There are flowers when the stone comes into view, blue flowers. 

Alex would’ve told her if he’d been, Meredith is god knows where, and she doubts anyone outside of the family would’ve left them. 

Which just leaves Amelia. 

Something tightens in her chest at the thought of Amelia Shepherd. She hasn’t spoken to her in months, has only seen her in passing at work. It’s been all back to back surgeries for the neurosurgeon, in and out of the OR. She wonders if Amelia sleeps at the hospital too. 

Blue scrubs, a blue cap, blue eyes. 

Blue flowers at a grave. 

A wind picks up, and Maggie leaves. It’s colder now, and she has the strangest urge to cry. Derek could cook, had cooked better than most people they know. 

She calls Amelia once she gets back to the house, a faint concern twisting in her gut. 

No answer. 

.

She calls again the next day. 

Nothing.

They go back to work on Monday, and she sees her once. The older woman’s eyes slide over her, blank.

Amelia doesn’t smile, and Maggie thinks she’s the only person who recognises what clinging to shreds of bravado so that you don’t shatter into a thousand pieces looks like. 

Amelia ignoring her stings more than it should.

Maggie doesn’t call again.

. 

The week after, she goes to sit in one of her lectures. 

She pretends she’s only going because Richard had asked her to, had pushed just a little. He’s worried about Amelia, she can tell. Everyone is, or maybe everyone is a little scared of her. Maybe both. 

She knows the other woman notices that people stop talking when she walks into a room. No one talks about Derek around her, no one brings it up. With Meredith gone, though everyone means well, it’s like Amelia is on show. 

A whole building filled with people walking on eggshells, it’s enough to drive anyone insane.

Maggie would’ve probably snapped long ago, if it had been her

And so she goes to the lecture, and listens to Amelia talk about brains, and tumours, and it’s enough to make _her_ head spin a little. It’s a lecture about the potential risks of a brain surgery on a tumor the size of a fist, in a twelve year old boy. 

Amelia has gotten funnier in the last six months. The jokes are cleaner, practiced, dancing on the edge of sharp sarcasm. Throughout the whole thing, Amelia is a whirlwind, a whirlwind of energy and bright lights and laughs.

 _A laugh a minute,_ people say.

She jokes all the time in this room, it’s a constant, flashing her audience of listeners a smile that would be far more believable if her brother hadn’t died six months ago. 

When she gets to explaining the neurological impacts of brain damage, she falters. It’s a split second, the smile slips, and Maggie only sees it because she’s looking for it. 

Her hand goes up, and Amelia’s blue eyes flick to her. Relief flashes there for a moment, and then it’s back to blank. 

The smiles never quite reach her eyes. 

“You have a question?”

Maggie tries to make her voice sound somewhat reassuring, probably fails. 

“Yes. If the tumor is benign, is it better to wait until it grows or catch it early?”

It’s a child’s question, a basic question, the kind of question that is mildly insulting to consider asking. Frankly, it’s insulting for Amelia to even have to _answer_ it. 

But the relief in her eyes is worth it, even if just for a second. 

. 

And so they continue. 

Maggie keeps cooking with Alex. She’s better at it now, can do most simple things without burning the house down. Between her and Jo and Karev, they make it work. 

She worries about Amelia. Amelia ignores her. 

Rinse, repeat. 

One afternoon, she asks Jackson how many hours the neurosurgeon had logged in the OR last week, and then leaves before he can give her an answer. She’s scared of what he will say, isn't sure she wants to know.

She goes back for it later though, of course she does. 

The words _far too many_ haunt her on the way out. So does the exact number he’d given her, a faint feeling of nausea accompanying it. 

. 

Later in the week, she breaks the stalemate, and taps Amelia gently on the arm in the hall. 

She looks like she's about to flinch, but then turns, meeting her eyes with that same steely look. 

“Do you need a consult?” Her voice is flat, bored. Empty. 

Maggie swallows, shaking her head. 

“No, I just wanted to see if you wanted to get something to eat. I’m guessing you haven’t had lunch yet?”

“No,” she says, taking a step back and giving her a half smile, and something in Maggie’s chest is aching. “I’m good, fine actually. Busy.”

“It’s okay if you’re not-”

“Just drop it.” Amelia cuts across her, eyes flashing with a warning, and Maggie remembers the paper dolls she used to make as a kid. You could be creative, draw whatever you wanted, make it perfect. 

But if you pulled too hard, they’d break. They’d rip in two and get shredded apart and that would be it. 

Amelia Shepherd is not a paper doll, far from it. 

And yet, Maggie knows that if she pushes here, pushes now, the cracks will widen and then shatter, and she won’t know how to fix that 

So she just nods once, and walks away. 

. 

When she pushes open the door to the house later that evening, the first thing she sees is Amelia sitting on the couch. 

Alex and Jo are still at work, night call. It's late. 

There’s an unopened bottle of wine on the table. 

It hadn’t been there when Maggie had left this morning. 

Amelia doesn’t look up as she comes in, just stares at nothing. 

The bottle is untouched, Amelia’s hands are curled around an empty glass, and they are shaking. Badly.

Maggie moves slowly into the room, dropping her bag by the door and pulling her coat off, one sleeve at a time. 

The wind rages outside, the house is warm. Time bends strangely in this building, it feels like the world is holding its breath. 

“Amelia?” 

One word, spoken straight into the silence. The neurosurgeon doesn’t move, doesn’t look up, doesn’t blink. 

“Amelia.” Maggie says it again, a little louder, and some invisible tension breaks, washing over them like a wave before ebbing away. 

Blue eyes meet her own, and Amelia’s face is filled with a helpless anger that Maggie knows is directed at a ghost.

“You’re supposed to be at work.”

It’s not an accusation, but there’s a tiny bite of bitterness to it. Maggie wonders what would have happened if Jackson had not offered to take the later hours instead, if she had stayed at the hospital. 

Wonders if the hair trigger line that Amelia walks with herself and her mind and the AA chip in her pocket would have blurred.

“Switched out my shift.” Maggie says carefully, stepping further into the room. “What are you doing here?”

Amelia waves a hand in the general direction of the wine.

“Thinking.”

“Thinking?”

The other woman just looks at her for a long moment, eyes searching. 

“Yes.”

There are another twelve seconds of silence, Maggie knows. She counts them. She thinks she might be freaking out a bit. She doesn’t know how to talk to Amelia, doesn’t really know how to get through to her or help, or stop her from taking the bottle and leaving. Meredith left, Owen left, Alex and Jo are working.

Derek is dead. 

Amelia is back to looking at the wine.

_(Ring-a-ring-a-rosies_

_A pocket full of posies_

_A tissue, a tissue_

_We all fall down)_

“Cookies.” She blurts, and the neurosurgeon’s eyes snap to hers. A faint flare of surprise breaks through the empty for a second, and Maggie could fucking cry she’s so happy to see _something_ there.

“Excuse me?”

She doesn’t look at the bottle sitting between them, just keeps looking at Amelia.

“Cookies. I was going to bake some. You want to help?” 

_Come on_ , she begs her silently, _please, get up. Get up. Get up. Get up._

Amelia’s face is expressionless, but she nods, she puts the glass down. 

And then she stands.

Maggie’s knees feel weak with relief, and they make their way into the kitchen.

.

  
  


It’s twenty minutes before either of them speak again, and it’s Maggie who finally breaks the quiet. She’s measuring flour into a cup, tipping it into the bowl that they’d found stacked in a cupboard. 

“Why?”

She watches Amelia reach for the sugar, and silence stretches again.

It's a question with a multitude of meanings. Why are you here, why won’t you talk to me, why didn’t you open that bottle, why did your brother die, why is Meredith gone, and _why_ is the world ripping and tearing and falling apart at the seams, one little bit at a time?

Amelia looks at her, and gives her a quiet smile. For the first time in months, Maggie thinks that maybe it reaches her eyes, just about. 

“Can’t let you take all the credit for burning the house down can I?”

Maggie laughs a little at that, and some of the weight hanging in the room around them eases. 

It’s a start. 

. 

In the end, they don’t burn down the house. 

They do nearly blow up the oven, but luckily for everyone involved, they’re surgeons with fast reflexes. ‘

After, there’s a plate of chocolate chip cookies, and they’re sitting on the floor with their backs pressed against the wall. Maggie has the plate balanced on her knees, and they’re eating their way through the lot. 

It’s quiet again, but not the kind of quiet that makes her want to scream, the kind of quiet that soothes, that feels like winter nights and soft music. 

Amelia picks up a cookie, flipping it between her index and middle finger, and examines it for a second. Then she eats it. There’s something calmer on her face now, the burning helpless rage has dimmed. 

“Maggie?”

She turns her head slightly at the sound of her name, a silent answer. 

Amelia doesn’t speak for a minute, reaching for another cookie. 

“I didn’t open it.”

The seal on the wine is still unbroken where it sits on the table in the next room. 

“I know.”

“I nearly did.”

“But you didn’t.”

Silence. 

“Thanks for the cookies.” Amelia takes the last one, and they both know she is thanking her for more than that.

“You know it’s never a problem,” Maggie says quietly, leaning her head back against the wall. “You’re family.”

Amelia looks at her, and her gaze is searching, sharp. 

“You don’t have to walk on eggshells. I’m fine.”

Maggie doesn’t answer that, isn’t sure how to answer that, so she just nods, waiting another second before putting the plate to one side and pushing to her feet, offering Amelia a hand up. 

After a beat of hesitation, the other woman takes it, warm fingers curling around her wrist. Amelia has a tight grip, tighter than she had expected. 

Maggie pulls her to her feet, steadies them both.

The storm rages outside, the house is warm.

It’s a start. 

. 

Owen comes back, Meredith follows soon after.

Maggie is standing in a corner when Amelia finally breaks, when she shouts at Richard in front of half the hospital, when she walks out without a backwards glance. 

She doesn’t follow her, but she does call her once she leaves. Twice, three times, and then again. 

No answer, straight to voicemail. Radio silence. 

She doesn’t see her for the rest of the day. 

.

Until she does. 

It’s past midnight when there’s a knock at the door, and she opens it to find Amelia there. 

Maggie scans her up and down, gaze landing on her face finally, her eyes. They’re red, she looks like she’s cried a year’s worth of grief. 

In a way, Maggie thinks that maybe she has. 

“Hi.” Amelia says, and she just looks exhausted. Sad and exhausted and drained. “Did I wake you?”

Maggie shakes her head slowly. She doesn’t tell her that she’s been sitting by her phone for five hours, fingers tapping nervously on the tabletop. 

“I was already awake.”

“Okay.” Amelia’s hands are deep in her pockets, jacket dusted with rain. “Is- can I come in? To stay, just for tonight.”

She steps to one side to let the neurosurgeon in, closing the door gently. And then she pulls her into a hug. She doesn’t think that either of them have been particularly inclined to hug it out, but after the first initial seconds of _what the fuck_ , she feels Amelia relax against her, resting her head on her shoulder. 

The two of them stand like that for a long time. 

It could have been days, or maybe years, before Amelia pulls away and gives her a half smile, dragging a hand across her face. 

“Thank you.”

Maggie nods, squeezing her arm gently. the unspoken words hang between them. 

_You’re family._

“Any time.”

. 

_Sometimes, it goes like this._

They end up moving in with Meredith, in the end. The three of them must be the world's strangest collection of sisters. 

It’s imperfect, it’s messy. 

But slowly, gradually, they learn how to live again. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/wordsxstars)


End file.
